The 13th Prime: Deciphering the Jubilee Code: The Thirteenth Series, #2

By William Struse

With the discovery of the 13th Enumeration an age old battle that has lurked in the shadows of world history, threatens to explode onto the world stage. The Order & their forces of darkness wage an unrelenting war to keep the secret, the success of their diabolical plans for the human race dependent upon mankind’s ignorance of the past.

Zane Harrison and Rachael Neumann do not realize the discovery of 13th Enumeration was just the beginning. Their knowledge of this ancient secret sets in motion a chain of events from which they may not escape. Trying to stay one step ahead of their hidden adversaries they learn there is much more to the secret than they ever imagined.
Forty one names in an ancient list of kings are the chronological key to evidence of a guiding hand woven into the fabric of events in mankind’s history, a scarlet thread marking important milestones in the fulfillment of an ancient promise. Find out how this epical struggle will end in The 13th Prime: Deciphering the Jubilee Code.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Struse
• Release date: Apr 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533721952

Book preview

Prologue

Jerusalem, 69 AD

It began again, the relentless pounding, the evil monster of destruction shaking the very foundations of the city. They called it Nikao, the conqueror, and it wielded the fury of Rome’s wrath against their rebellious citadel.

Jorah, son of Ananus, felt the throbbing beat of the battering ram through the hard cold ground upon which he was sleeping. It was his call to awake and relive the nightmare that had become his existence. Rolling over, he got onto his hands and knees and carefully stood. Barely seventeen years old, he moved like an old man, his starved body bearing the ravages of the siege. Slowly he began to warm, and he made his way to the room next door. Bending his head, he entered the small doorway and stood silently next to the lifeless bodies of his parents. Side by side, they lay on the dirt floor of the bare room. The Zealots had forbidden anyone to bury their dead. A single tear slid down his hollow face, and he wiped it away with the filthy, ragged sleeve of his tunic.

The Zealots had promised them liberty and freedom, that they would be no more slaves to the imperial Roman system. What they received in exchange was a terror far more dreadful. To Rome they had been required to subjugate only their will. The Zealots demanded their humanity. The atrocities instigated by his own people had far surpassed any indignities suffered at the hands of the Romans. The murder, pillaging, and rape had taken their toll. Further adding to their misery, anyone caught trying to escape the city was tortured and killed by those soulless monsters who controlled the forsaken place. The bodies of those innocent were thrown over the wall by the thousands until it became too great a task, and then they were left where they had been murdered. The stench of death and decay hung in the air like a blanket. Those lucky enough to make it outside the city were crucified by the Romans, their bodies hung for all to see. As many as five hundred a day were willing to risk this gruesome death rather than suffer the horrors inside the city.

In a mocking whisper Jorah repeated the words, Liberty and freedom. The people had truly tasted the fruit of liberty and freedom—freedom from the law of God. What a bitter feast it had become.

In the dark before dawn, he left the death of the house and made his way carefully to the wall of the city, trying to avoid the Zealots who patrolled the streets. In a corner where one of the smaller battlements met the wall, in a place where the shadows of predawn were the darkest, he slowly climbed a dangerous route to a crack in the wall near the top. Rock by rock he climbed the rough masonry of the ancient city to a small opening made by the bombardment of the Roman catapults. His weakened body barely clung to the wall. Finally, he squeezed into the narrow crack and carefully made his way through to the other side. Once inside, the wall opened up just enough for him to stand and walk, his shrunken shoulders no longer touching both sides. The risk of this dangerous climb to his lonely vigil was well worth the escape from the stench and death below. Now, high above the city in the first glimmerings of dawn, he looked out through the small opening near the external side of the thick wall. He could see the Roman legions surrounding the citadel. As far as his weary gaze could see there were tents, soldiers, horses, and all manner of war machines and equipment. It had taken the legions three days to build a wall which completely cut off any escape from the city. The wall was guarded by thirteen garrisons. As far as the eye could see, not a single tree or bush remained. They had been used to make towers, ramps, and other battlements.

Jorah curled his body into a tight ball and sat waiting for the sun to bring its warming rays to the rough crack and his tired body. Finally, the first rays of the sun broke the gray dawn with their energy and warmth.

His father had been a scribe. As far back as he could remember Jorah had been memorizing Torah, and now he recited it to keep a tentative grasp on his sanity. When the sun finally brought its full warmth to this rent in the wall, he would begin his daily ritual. For weeks he had been recording the events of the siege and the oral traditions he could remember from his father.

He knew his people had experienced trials and tribulation down through their history, but the events of the past few months represented a horror greater than any ever recorded. Had the warnings of the Nazarene really proved true? Just as Jonah had warned the Ninevites with the sign of his resurrection from the belly of the fish, so the Nazarene rabbi had given his father’s generation the same sign. Jonah had given the Ninevites forty days to repent. If Jorah’s calculations were correct, this year marked the fortieth since the Nazarene’s warning of impending calamity. Was this the judgment he had warned about?

There had been whispers of it amongst the people. Some traced the beginnings of their present sorrows to the day the Nazarene had been crucified by the Romans. There was a great darkness that day, and the temple curtain was rent in two. The rabbis had recorded that every day for forty years since then, the menorah had gone out, and the temple gates would be found open in the morning no matter the precautions taken. Each year on Yom Kippur the crimson thread no longer turned white, and when casting lots for the azazel scapegoat, the black stone always turned up. For forty years, only the black stone! It was impossible, but it had happened.

The final omen, the most sobering of all, was that this year marked the last year of the fortieth Yowbel since YHWH had promised their father Abraham that he would make of them a great nation. Would this Yowbel, instead of celebrating the great Jubilee of release and forgiven debts, mark instead an inglorious end to a people chosen by God? Was this the final chapter in the history of his people? Jorah shuddered. How long would YHWH judge his people? What of the promise of the prophets, the words of Hosea, and the promise of the third day? How long would Jerusalem suffer the indignities of these Gentile hordes and the monstrosities of the Zealots?

Hours later, the sun’s life-giving rays reached deep into the crack where Jorah, son of Ananus, still lay. He now knew today would be his last day, but he was not unhappy. Death would be a blessed relief from this wretched place. No longer having the will to continue, he felt his spirit slipping away. With a final effort he whispered that ancient promise of judgment and deliverance as his tired heart gave its last weakened beats to the rhythm of the cursed Roman battering ram:

Come, and let us return unto YHWH: for he hath torn, and he will heal us; he hath smitten, and he will bind us up. After two days will he revive us: in the third day he will raise us up, and we shall live in his sight. Then shall we know, if we follow on to know YHWH: his going forth is prepared as the morning; and he shall come unto us as the rain, as the latter and former rain unto the earth. O Ephraim, what shall I do unto thee? O Judah, what shall I do unto thee? for your goodness is as a morning cloud, and as the early dew it goeth away. Therefore have I hewed them by the prophets; I have slain them by the words of my mouth: and thy judgments are as the light that goeth forth. For I desired mercy, and not sacrifice; and the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings. But they like men have transgressed the covenant: there have they dealt treacherously against me.

Chapter 1

St. Michaels, Maryland

A confident, muscular form carefully slid an Alden 16 rowing shell into the gloomy waters of St. Michaels’ harbor. With powerful, efficient strokes the craft was propelled into the Eastern Chesapeake. Once out in the bay, the boat was directed southeast up the Miles River. Pausing for a few moments, the rower removed a pair of military-grade night-vision goggles from a backpack and placed them on his head. The task completed, he once again turned his attention to the scull, his swift, silent strokes rapidly lengthening a thin ripple in the murky tidal river. After three miles he turned back northeast. His strokes settled into a practiced rhythm as his warm muscles caught and released with perfect precision. For thirty minutes he kept the pace, then finally turned the silent craft toward the wooded shore and a covered boathouse just a few miles from Easton, a sleepy little town in Talbot County, Maryland.

Securing the boat, he climbed onto the boathouse pier and walked swiftly to the wall where an alarm panel flashed a small green LED light. With gloved fingers he entered a five-digit security code and then continued up the dark wooded path to the secluded estate. Pausing at the edge of the woods, the intruder looked for any unusual activity through his night-vision goggles. After several minutes he crossed the small clearing to the side door of the garage. Taking a key from a pocket in his rowing gear, he unlocked the silent garage and entered, closing the door behind him. Inside, he turned on his goggles’ infrared illuminator. Walking to the utility room at the far end of the garage, he silently entered. He stood in front of a wall-mounted on-demand water heater. With a folding pocket tool, he removed the four screws holding its cover in place. Reaching through the wiring harness, he removed the yellow wire nut on the hot side of the 120-volt power supply. He left the yellow wire nut plainly visible in the heater and then closed the cover and replaced the four screws.

Retracing his steps, the intruder closed and locked the garage and made his way back to the river. Once again on the pier, he rearmed the security system and returned to his scull. Checking his watch, he noted that it had taken twenty-five minutes to make it from the boathouse and back again. With satisfaction, he returned to the shell and the dark waters of the Miles River. It was 3:37 a.m., August 9.

As the dark wooded shore faded in the gloom behind him, the rower smiled. That single yellow wire nut would be the catalyst for one of most cold-blooded murders in United States political history. A murder which would forever change the direction of American politics and set the country on a course to fulfill what some believed was its sacred destiny.

Chapter 2

Tehran, Iran

The darkness reached for him, its grasping fingers securing him in an embrace he could not escape. He had lost track of time and did not know if he had been in his cell for a day or several. That he was still alive told him it had been less than a week. The poison had not run its course. Paranoia washed over him like breakers on a rocky shore, each receding wave taking a little more of his sanity on its return to the dark waters beyond.

Darius Zarindast was losing his mind.

With every shallow breath he took, he could feel the poison destroying his body He had not seen his brother since he’d been knocked unconscious on the plane. Now he was a prisoner to a small, dark cell. Not a single ray of light had pierced his confinement since he’d been here. The darkness was so complete it felt as if it was he was being crushed by it. He lay curled in a fetal position on the stone floor.

Some time later, he was disoriented by the illumination of a small TV mounted outside his cell on another wall. As his eyes adjusted, he saw his brother’s face on the grainy screen. It appeared to be some sort of news conference inside the Iranian parliament. A few minutes later the sound was turned on, and the pounding voice of his brother Arash filled his tiny room. The caption at the bottom of the screen read, Breaking News: Tragedy in Dubai.

My fellow Persians, Arash began soberly, it is with great regret I . . . He paused in a show of emotion, then started again. It is with unspeakable horror that I share the following news. Twelve hours ago, our intelligence officers intercepted Darius Zarindast trying to clandestinely enter our country. We have learned the esteemed Mr. Zarindast is responsible for an unspeakable act which has resulted in the death of nearly the entire population of Dubai, UAE. It seems Mr. Zarindast, in an act of incredible greed, attempted to manipulate the world’s financial system to enrich himself and his associates. As part of his scheme, he has defrauded over half the world’s population. Last evening Mr. Zarindast, in an effort to cover his illegal activities, destroyed Aquarius Elemental Solutions’ headquarters in Dubai. Ʊnbeknownst to world leaders and financial markets, Mr. Zarindast built a financial pyramid leveraged by several trillion dollars. The deaths in Dubai and the destruction of AES has resulted in the crash of world financial markets.

As Darius watched his brother’s news conference, his fear and insanity were burned away by his overwhelming rage. His circumstances forgotten, he stood on wobbly feet and moved toward the TV. Holding the bars of his cell, which faced the open room beyond, he shouted, You will not get away with this, Brother! You will see my revenge! You will see my revenge! As his shouts died away in the darkness beyond the television, he heard his brother taking credit for saving mankind. Darius, gnashing his teeth, listened as Arash continued.

Ladies and gentlemen, in the course of questioning Mr. Zarindast, we also learned that he intended to duplicate the events in Dubai in some of the world’s most populous cities. In cooperation with world leaders, we have foiled his plans and prevented the death of untold millions. Let me reassure you: you no longer have anything to fear. It is with incomprehensible sadness that I’ve been told the deaths in Dubai are estimated at close to two million lives. In his final act of cowardice, Mr. Zarindast took his own life two hours ago. Over the coming days, we will have more information to share. I will not be taking any questions at this time. Thank you.

As the final words of his brother echoed in Darius’s unstable mind, he collapsed on the floor in a paroxysm of rage. Once the screams and seizures subsided, a quiet returned to the cell once more. Then, out of the darkness, the silence was disturbed by the whisper of a vindictive chuckle, which slowly built into an insatiable, insanity-laced roar of laughter. It went on and on and on, ringing off the earless walls of the tiny cell and echoing through the gray bars into the space beyond. Then the darkness and silence returned.

Chapter 3

London, England

Sir Peter Herschel watched the news conference from Iran with growing anger. Darius Zarindast had come within a few days of destroying the Order and their plans for the world. They had been saved from the unthinkable only by a betrayal. Arash had come to Sir Peter to negotiate the deal. It disturbed him that Arash had known about the Order. How had their network been compromised?

In exchange for telling them of the impending destruction of the world’s financial centers through Darius’s evil plot, Arash was allowed to keep the wealth Darius had transferred to Iran in the days before he planned to execute his revenge on the Order. As part of their arrangement, Arash had agree to turn Darius over to the Order so they could make an example of him.

Iran, or Persia as it was now called thanks to Darius’s manipulations, had accumulated the largest gold reserves of any nation on earth at prices just a fraction of what they had been only eighteen months before: 20,285 tons of gold had been purchased by Persia during the rise of Aquarius Elemental Solutions. This amounted to 60 percent of world governments’ estimated gold reserves. The amount was over two and a half times the gold holdings of the United States and double those held by the European Union. Persia, at the direction of Darius and the execution of Arash, had gladly purchased any and all gold reserves they could during the final months of their plan. Hedge funds, central banks, and some of the world’s most wealthy individuals had dumped their gold on the stupid Persian government, and many of them had purchased AES stock with the proceeds. Darius’s fleet of aircraft had brought the gold to a secret underground location in the deserts of Persia. Now Persia sat on the largest gold reserve on earth, and with AES stock worthless, they had accomplished one of the largest transfers of wealth in the history of the world.

Peter grudgingly admitted Darius’s plans had been ingeniously thought out and brilliantly executed. Only the actions of a vengeful brother had kept him from complete success. Now, with his own fortunes severely damaged and his influence in serious question, Peter Herschel tried to see a way out. He had lost a large part of his personal fortune in the financial crash which Darius had caused. Many of the other members of the Order had been hurt equally as badly, and some even more so. Their world operations and influence had been seriously damaged, and it would take months to work out exactly what had been lost and what could be salvaged. Most were in a state of shock.

Peter clenched his massive fist. After centuries of effort, they were so close to their goals. To have this happen with time running out!

With effort, he pushed aside the illogical emotions he felt and tried to look at his problem, not for what it was, but what it could be. Now was not the time for licking their wounds, but for bold action. There had to be a way to make order out of this chaos. He felt the anger creeping back into his mind. The Order was not often at the receiving end of world events. Still, he had to find a way to use these events to advance the Order’s agenda.

First things first, the secrets had to be protected at all costs. Their plans had a much better chance of succeeding if they were carried out under the cover of the people’s ignorance. What had been discovered in Capernaum could change everything. The Order’s carefully crafted version of history could not withstand the knowledge of the 13th Enumeration, nor could their plans survive once the world understood the implications of this ancient secret.

The massive hand of Sir Peter Herschel reached for his phone. After a moment, a feminine voice answered. Yes, how may I help you, Peter?

Angelica, we have a situation which requires your services. Anton has failed and left several loose ends that now require a degree of finesse. I will be sending over the files shortly. You will be contracted through Luormus as in the past. I would appreciate your immediate attention to this.

Without another word, the line went dead.

* * *

Angelica Lioje sat contemplating Peter Herschel’s phone call. He did not call often, but when he did, it was always with a challenge. She smiled in anticipation. She loved a good challenge, and Peter Herschel’s problems were some of the best.

Angelica had been a member of the Order for over ten years, working behind the scenes as a fixer. Circulating in the rarefied atmosphere of princes and heads of state, she solved problems for some of the world’s most important people. As her successes multiplied, so did her power and influence. She was utterly ruthless, but her weapon of choice was a whispered word or a subtle hint. She had destroyed more lives with her Machiavellian schemes than Anton Ramirez had with his bloody knife.

Already plotting, she waited for the files on her next victims.

Chapter 4

Jerusalem, Israel

Zane Harrison woke to the light of dawn gently filtering through the shades of the bedroom window. It took him a few moments to remember where he was. Then the events of the past two days came flooding back into his sleepy mind. Their discovery of the ancient artifacts, the chase, their escape, and Jacob Neumann’s near death yesterday at the hands of a madman. He sat up in bed, glancing at his watch. Ten a.m. He’d stayed at the Neumanns’ house again instead of driving to Tel Aviv to stay with David. Jacob, Rachael, and he had stayed up late last night trying to make sense of the events. Zane couldn’t get the words out of his mind. Those cryptic words Jacob Neumann had recalled the killer using.

I am not here to learn about the Son of God, Mr. Neumann. I already know more than you do. I am here to make sure you don’t share this knowledge with anyone else. We have been guarding the secret for centuries, and it is not time yet for the world to choose. The final Jubilee has not expired; we still have more time left. The time of the Gentiles is not complete.

If the killer was to be believed, someone did not want their discovery of the 13th Enumeration to be known. But why? The madman had also mentioned something about a Jubilee and the time of the Gentiles. What did that have to do with Jesus and the 13th Enumeration? What could be so important that men were willing to kill for it? Obviously more people were involved, but who were they and what did they want?

Zane resisted the urge to groan. These were all questions the three of them had gone over for several hours without resolution. What did these people believe was so important about this biblical secret? Could there be more to the 13th Enumeration than the mathematical proof that Jesus was the Messiah promised in the Scriptures? Maybe this was just the ravings of a deranged lunatic? No, he had known about the 13th Enumeration being the Son of God. He had intimated he knew more than they and that his knowledge was part of the reason he was trying to kill them. It didn’t make any sense.

With these thoughts circling in his mind, he dressed and headed out to see if Jacob or Rachael were up yet. Zane saw them sitting around the table on the back deck. Through the glass door, Jacob Neumann motioned for him to join them.

Good morning Zane, Jacob said as Zane approached.

Good morning, Mr. Neumann; good morning, Rachael. Looks like you both have been up awhile. They both acknowledged his greeting, Rachael giving him a warm smile. Her sparkling green eyes searching his face, seemingly satisfied with what she found.

Jacob asked, How about a cup of coffee, Zane?

Please, he replied gratefully. Jacob Neumann poured the strong Turkish coffee into Zane’s cup. On the other side of the table, Rachael sat curled up in the cushioned deck chair, both hands around her own cup. Jacob sat back down, looking at both of them with a question in his eyes.

Zane, since the Mossad has asked you to stay for a couple more days, do you have any specific plans?

Not really, Mr. Neumann. I am still kind of overwhelmed with the events of the past few days. After our discussion last night, I’ve been trying to put the pieces of it all together—but they don’t seem to fit.

Rachael and I have been discussing it this morning as well, and we have not come up with any reasonable explanations. We had an idea, though. We know . . . Jacob corrected himself. "Well, we believe it is reasonable to assume these events are somehow connected to your discovery of the 13th Enumeration. Somehow the people or group which this killer represented knows or believes there is more to the 13th Enumeration than just proof that Yeshua was the Messiah promised in the Scriptures. Assuming the madman’s words are to be taken seriously, and that is a pretty big assumption, then we need to figure out the connection between the 13th Enumeration and what he called the final Jubilee."

Abba, Rachael replied, didn’t you say he also mentioned something about ‘the time of the Gentiles’?

Yes, he did. He mentioned the time of the Gentiles in the context of the final Jubilee.

Zane replied, I am familiar with the biblical concept of the ‘times of the Gentiles,’ but what is a final Jubilee?

"I’m not sure about that, but a biblical Yowbel, or Jubilee as most know it, is a cycle of fifty years which culminate in a year of release. To use the definition in Leviticus 25, a Jubilee is seven cycles of seven years, and then the year following these forty-nine years is the Jubilee."

Rachael interjected, During the Jubilee, YHWH commanded all debts to be forgiven and slaves set free. It was a mandatory economic recalibration, so to speak. The Bible goes on to explain this Yowbel was given so the people would not abuse each other.

Right, Jacob continued. The Jubilee was a sort of mandatory rebalancing of the financial system. Once every fifty years it was to coincide with Yom Kippur, our Day of Atonement, the most solemn and holy day of our year. Jacob shook his head. But what could that have to do with Yeshua? And what is the connection between this Old Testament custom and the present?

Both Zane and Rachael sat silently thinking about the Jubilee and its possible connection to a madman—or a group of madmen, for all they knew.

Rachael looked up and asked, Abba, didn’t Rabbi Weidenhjelm have an interest in biblical chronology and the Jubilee?

Thoughtfully Jacob replied, Yes, I recall your ima saying that he had done extensive research on the Jubilee.

Rachael looked at Zane. Would you mind going with me to see Rabbi Weidenhjelm about the Jubilee? Maybe if we understood the Jubilee a little better, we might be able to figure out what we are missing here.

Zane replied, Sure I’m game.

Rachael looked at her father. Abba, what do you think?

Not a bad idea. It can’t hurt to hear what your mother’s rabbi has to say. She always spoke highly of him.

You want to come along, Abba?

Jacob’s normally calm but resolute expression was etched with lines of thoughtful sadness. No, my dear, I have pressing matters to attend to at the office, and I must return to work. There are several digs going and several more waiting to receive permission. With Efran now gone, I must take care of his responsibilities as well until a replacement can be found. Jacob shook his head sadly. Never would I have thought Efran would be capable of murder. He sighed. Later this morning I’ve been invited to meet with the international dig team that is heading to Petra tomorrow. They are visiting some of the sites in Jerusalem today. With a sad, distracted look, he stood up and excused himself from the table.

After he was gone, Rachael looked over at Zane speculatively. After we see Rabbi Weidenhjelm, would you like to have lunch with me?

Shaking off the touch of gloom Jacob’s expression had left behind, he replied, Sure, what do you have in mind?

As she got up from the table she replied, It’s not the Canela, but I think you will like it. You’ll just have to wait and see. I’ll go call the rabbi and see if he has time to talk to us today. I’ll be right back.

Zane watched her leave and then sat back and closed his eyes. He loved Rachael Neumann. That much he knew. But he hadn’t told her that yet. What if she didn’t feel the same way about him? He knew she liked him, but did she have any stronger feelings? He wasn’t very good at reading women. Was any man? Would we have it any other way? he asked himself. Probably not. Well, he loved her and wanted to be her man, so he was going to ask her to marry him. But before he proposed, he needed to make some preparations.

Rachael returned before he was finished these thoughts. Rabbi Weidenhjelm is busy today, but he would be willing to talk to us tomorrow morning at ten. Is that okay with you?

Sounds good. I don’t leave until the day after tomorrow, and I don’t really have any other plans. Would you like to go somewhere or do something? If you would offer your services as a tour guide, I will offer mine as a chauffeur.

Smiling, she replied, It’s a deal. Where would you like to go?

I really don’t know. How about you surprise me?

Rachael thought out loud. We could go to the Western Wall, or the David Citadel, a museum . . .

Zane raised his eyebrows, indicating she should go on.

Not really crazy about any of those, are you?

Apologetically he replied, I’ve already been, but I don’t mind going again.

Rachael thought for a few minutes longer. How about a tour of Jerusalem where we are each our own chauffeur?

He gave her a questioning look. Rachael stood up with a mischievous smile on her face. Give me fifteen minutes while I get ready, and then I will show you what I mean.

After she left, Zane cleaned and put away his coffee cup. Returning to his room, he put on his shoes and checked his messages: one from David checking on him and another from a senior Ameritrade representative asking him to give them a call so they could discuss his investing goals. First time they had ever called him. First time I’ve ever had over a million dollars sitting in cash in my account too, he laughed. That was probably the reason for their new interest.

A few minutes later, Rachael returned wearing a pair of jeans and a white short-sleeved shirt. Ready to go? she asked.

Lead the way, he replied. Zane followed her outside to a detached shed. Opening a side door, she turned on the light and pointed to the two mountain bikes hanging from the ceiling. They haven’t been ridden in a while, but if we air up the tires and oil the chains, they should be just fine. How would you like to see Jerusalem from a bike?

Zane grinned. Now that sounded like his kind of tour. Sounds like a great idea.

Together they took down the bikes, oiled the chains, and aired the tires. They set off, Rachael leading the way through the historic city center. They saw the Caltrava Bridge, the Valley of the Cross, Rehavia, Talbiya, the German Colony, the Knesset, the Supreme Court, the Hass Promenade, Mishkanot Sha’ananim, the Jaffa Gate, and the Russian Compound. Several hours later, tired and hungry, they stopped at the Machne Yehuda Market, and she bought him a lamb kabob and pita for lunch from a local street vendor.

Sitting in the shade of an ancient olive tree, they ate their lunch. You know we couldn’t have seen everything we saw today without the bikes, Zane remarked. The view of the city from the Promenade was amazing.

Rachael nodded. You know, according to Jewish tradition, the Hass Promenade is where Abraham was shown by God that his descendants would build a future city.

I didn’t know that. Pretty cool. I wonder what this all looked like back then. I mean, can you imagine standing on the highest ridge of Jerusalem overlooking those magnificent vistas without the houses and buildings? Wouldn’t it be neat to be able to look back into the past and see places like Jerusalem through the eyes of Abraham? Or how about standing in the valley of Elah when David met Goliath?

Rachael watched Zane as he talked. His face was animated with a faraway look as he continued.

I love to think about how the young shepherd David asked Saul and the armies of Israel, ‘Who is this Philistine, that he should defy the armies of the living God?’ I can just picture their incredulity. Zane looked at Rachael. Can you imagine his faith? Or his confidence, whatever it was . . . but he knew. He knew without any doubt that he served ‘the living God.’ His own people mocked him, but what was his reply? ‘YHWH will deliver me.’ With that belief, he slew the giant the entire army of Israel was afraid of. Now that is faith!

Wistfully Rachael replied, Do you think you would have had that kind of faith?

Zane looked down momentarily, then replied, I would like to believe I’d have that kind of faith when it was called for. How about you?

I wish I knew as well, Rachael replied soberly. Silently, thoughtfully then, they watched as the people went about their business in the market. Finally Rachael asked, Are you ready to go home now? I would like to make dinner for Abba this evening. I also want to get started organizing my pictures of our discovery at the Capernaum dig.

Sure, I’m ready. Sounds like we both have some homework to keep us busy. I need to work some more on Daniel 9 and do a little research on the Jubilee before we meet with the rabbi tomorrow.

Let’s go then, Rachael said, and smiled.

As the sun finished its descent in the western sky, they wound their way back home through the ancient streets. As they turned onto the Neumanns’ street, they watched as the sun’s fiery glory was extinguished in a final burst of brilliant vermillion.

Rachael, turning to look at Zane with a sparkle in her eyes, said, I’ll race you to see who gets to do the dishes.

Zane let his jumping start give his answer. His laughter trailing out behind, he raced for the house.

Chapter 5

Paris, France

Angelica Lioje sat in her Paris apartment reviewing the files Sir Peter Herschel had forwarded to her. Anton had really complicated matters with his failed attempt on Jacob Neumann. Sir Peter’s angel of death had met his own demise. She smiled coldly—she had never liked him anyway. Now she was Sir Peter’s weapon of